Staple
Treated myself to Ethiopian food in San José and a new book. Messed around on IRC until it was time to go to the city.
Another saturday, another Staple, of course. I arrived on the scene shortly after 9:15, choosing an extraordinarily convenient parking space almost directly across the street from the club entrance. At 10:45, there was still almost noone on the dancefloor.
Sally showed up, having called me in Mountain View before I left my house. She showed up and started dancing around a bit. I went upstairs after a while to get some air on the outdoor deck, when I spotted Patrick and Geneva, who were hanging with an incredibly mind-smashing woman named Christina, whom I had seen at the bar ordering a martini, or something.
Eventually, we all ended up on the dancefloor, where I performed my usual barrage of special effects, moves, and voices. It was a hoot. Mark Ambrose took the decks shortly before midnight and blew all of our minds. I ended up (somehow) in the middle of a dance contest, as always, and, as usual, danced a bit too hard, and turned my ankle a bit too much on sticky dancefloors. I’m sure I’ll be sore for a couple of days.
But, damn, if Christina isn’t beautiful. I departed, greeting everyone, particularly her and Geneva (What it is about Canadian women that drives me insane, I have no idea) and headed to Denny’s, limping all the way to my car. I’m quite certain that I’ll still be sore on Wednesday.